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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



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LIGHT AND CLOUD 



DARK VALLEY. 



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" Unto you therefore which belieye He is precious." — 1 Pet. ii. 7. 



/ • 

PHILADELPHIA: 

No. 316 CHESTNUT STREET. 

NEW YORK: No. W NASSAU ST BOSTON: No. 9 CORNHILL. 

LOUISVILLE: No. 103 FOURTH ST. 









Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1853, by the 

AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Eastern District of 

Pennsylvania. 



#if No books are pvJ>lished by the American Suiro ay-school Union 
without the sanction of the Committee of Publication, -consisting of four- 
teen members, from the following denominations of Christians, viz. Bap- 
tist, Mrthodist. CongrcgaiJonalist, Episcopal, Presbyterian, Lutheran, and 
Reformed Dutch. Not more than three of the members can be of the same 
denomination, and no book can be published to which any member of the 
(Committee shall object. 






CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Introduction 7 

Glimmer of Hope 15 

Insensibility 31 

A Desponding Christian 40 

Dying Anxieties 50 

A Young Disciple 58 

Actiye Benevolence 70 

Christian Consistency 86 " 

Candid Inquirer 99 

Perfect Peace 117 

Extract of a Letter 129 



1* 



The writer of the following sketches is 
neither qualified, nor does he wish to be 
regarded as attempting, to instruct others, 
with theological exactness, in reference 
to any of the subjects they embrace. 
Having often enjoyed the privilege, how- 
ever, of being present at the bedside of 
the sick and dying, he has thought that 
a brief account of his occasional inter- 
views with some of them, with some 
notice of their previous characters, might 
possibly be interesting and useful. 

The subject of death, in all its various 
aspects, as a mere physical change, as 

7 



INTRODUCTION. 



the termination of our connection with 
the scenes of the present life,. or as the 
commencement of a future and untried 
state of being, can hardly fail to awaken 
the most earnest solicitude, and very 
often, no doubt, the most distressing 
fears. 

To what extent the extinction of our 
mere animal life is to be dreaded, or 
what may be or commonly are the suf- 
ferings connected with that event, is only 
to be learned by observation, or from the 
Scriptures. It is often alluded to in the 
Bible, but seldom, perhaps, if ever, in 
terms fitted to awaken the apprehension 
of great bodily distress. But it is spoken 
of, nevertheless, as a penalty, as possess- 
ing a sting, as something terrific, to the 
wicked at least, in its nature or conse- 
quences. And this representation is 



INTRODUCTION. 9 



abundantly confirmed by the circum- 
stances which are often seen to attend 
it. The restlessness and struggles and 
apparently indescribable anguish which 
are sometimes observable, even in the 
case of the dying believer, cannot but 
alarm our fears, whatever may be our 
personal character. But when it is re- 
membered that as w r ell in the case of 
impenitence as of open profligacy, the 
death of the body is represented to be 
but the precursor of the second death — 
the death of the soul — thus introducing 
it to that state of existence " where the 
worm dieth not" — who can look forward 
to the extinction of his animal life 
merely, without feelings of the pro- 
foundest and most inexpressible in- 
terest ! 

It may be true, and to some extent 



10 INTRODUCTION. 



probably is true, that the changes which 
the body undergoes in death, as well as 
those anterior and preparatory to its 
dissolution, may be designed to impress 
us with such a sense of its terrors, that 
every possible preparation may be made, 
in our own case, for an event which is 
so often accompanied by apparently the 
intensest suffering in the case of others. 
What degree of actual pain, however, 
is endured by the sufferer himself — 
whether the fluttering pulse, the op- 
pressed respiration, the writhings of the 
body, and the distortions of the coun- 
tenance, are (or, as medical men gene- 
rally suppose, are not) just indications 
of the sufferings of which the patient 
himself is conscious — will probably, for 
the wisest reasons, remain altogether 
uncertain. 



INTRODUCTION. 11 



Whatever may be the fact, and though 
there is no escape from the event itself, 
He who gave life, and at his pleasure 
takes it away, has made the most ample 
provision for the succour and support of 
all who will accept of it, in this and 
every other emergency. 

Obnoxious as we are to the penalties 
of his law, with a penitent trust in 
Christ we may regard God as our re- 
conciled Father and Friend — one who, 
in all the journey of life, will guard us 
from calamity, or make that calamity 
the means of advancing our ultimate 
happiness; and when the hour of death 
comes, will impart to us peace as a 
river; or if suffering — acute, intense 
suffering — be our allotment, will give us 
grace to endure, as seeing him who is 
invisible, and overrule that very suffer- 



12 INTRODUCTION. 



ing for our more complete enjoyment of 
his own infinite love. 

But however important, in the view 
of every wise man, is earnest and im- 
mediate attention to those great subjects 
connected with his everlasting w r ell- 
being, what multitudes, not only of the 
more ignorant classes, but of the refined, 
intelligent, and educated also, are suf- 
fering the things of this world to exert 
an influence over them at once absorbing 
and disastrous ! Wealth, professional 
eminence, and other forms of temporal 
good are their great objects of pursuit ; 
and though every fear of disappointment 
will stimulate to renewed effort for se- 
curing them, those enduring and eter- 
nal realities — perhaps just at hand — 
are all practically neglected and for- 
gotten ! 



INTRODUCTION. 13 



The letter from a clergyman, with 
which this little volume is concluded, is 
so appropriate, and contains so many 
suggestions of a most happy practical 
nature, that it gives the author great 
satisfaction to be permitted to make it 
public. 

Eeader! may God dispose us to act 
habitually with a 'wise reference to the 
future, — comfort and sustain and cheer 
us in the hour of dissolution, — and when 
life is ended, admit us, through the 
merits of Jesus Christ, to his more im- 
mediate and blissful presence, in hea- 
ven. 



IMmtx of pop. 



Not many years since, a gentleman of 
high distinction as well in his profession 
as in public life, was somewhat suddenly 
obliged to retire from both, in conse- 
quence of ill health ; and much solicitude 
was awakened, on the part of many of 
his friends, in reference to his religious 
character. He was a man of fine intel- 
lectual powers, and had generally mani- 
fested great respect for the institutions of 
religion. On some occasions, however, 
especially in earlier life, his course of 
conduct had been entirely at war with 
the teachings of God's word, — so much 

15 



16 GLIMMER OF HOPE. 



so, that when the disease under which 
he was sinking apparently approached 
its crisis, a very strong desire was felt 
that he might be made acquainted with 
his danger, and be led, w T ith a distinct 
understanding of his guilt, to look to 
Jesus Christ, — and to him alone, — for 
salvation. 

Among those who regarded the situa- 
tion of this friend with great interest, 
was the writer of this article; and he 
earnestly desired, that one possessing so 
many excellent traits of character might 
be brought at once, and before the 
powers of his mind were at all impaired, 
to a knowledge of his true relations to 
God, and to a penitent and cordial ac- 
ceptance of those offers of mercy held 
out to every broken-hearted sinner, in 
the gospel of Christ. 



GLIMMER OF HOPE. 17 



For this purpose, and with a view to 
aiding in the accomplishment of an 
object of such magnitude, I repeatedly 
called upon my sick friend, and sought, 
in every possible way, to direct his at- 
tention to the perils and pressing neces- 
sities of his condition. But every sug- 
gestion bearing upon personal character 
or the importance of preparation for 
death, seemed to be rendered ineffectual 
by an apparent endeavour on his part to 
confine our conversation to the subject 
of bodily health, public interests, or 
other kindred topics, having no imme- 
diate connection with spiritual concerns. 
So plainly, indeed, was this purpose 
evinced, that after repeated efforts, at 
different interviews, to make myself use- 
ful, I finally concluded that if I could 
not be allowed to benefit my friend, I 

2* 



18 GLIMMER OF HOPE. 



would at least no longer annoy him — 
merely remarking, as I withdrew, that 
if at any time my services should in any 
way be desired, I should be most happy 
to render them. 

Such continued to be the state of 
things for a number of days, and I be- 
gan to despair of any opportunity of 
helping to prepare my friend for his great 
and last change. He was not, indeed, a 
very intimate friend; and it was the 
more difficult, on that very account, to 
introduce a subject which, had our in- 
timacy been ever so great, must of 
course have been a trying, and, in some 
respects, a very painful one. 

Some two or three weeks after, how- 
ever, I received a message from a lady in 
the neighbourhood, suggesting that she 
had learned, through the wife of our 



GLIMMER OF HOPE. 19 



sick friend ; that he would now be par- 
ticularly gratified to see me; and after 
asking, with unusual fervency, the aids 
of divine grace, I hastened to his house, 
determined, with God's help, to speak so 
plainly that I could not be misunder- 
stood, and so affectionately and earnestly 
withal, that, if possible, the heart of my 
friend might be subdued and melted. 

To my amazement, he not only 
received me with the cordiality of 
a brother, but introduced, at once, the 
subject which of all others seemed at 
such a moment to be most appropriate. 
His health had manifestly declined since 
I last saw him ; and after adverting to 
the prospect before him, he told me, 
with all frankness, that though accus- 
tomed heretofore to look at religion and 
religious things with the eye of a phi- 



20 GLIMMER OF HOPE. 



losopher, he had now begun to feel, for 
the first time, his own personal interest 
in them; and knowing as he did my 
desire to be useful, he had expressed a 
wish to see me, that we might confer 
together upon subjects of inexpressible 
importance to his welfare. 

Thus invited, I spoke to him at once 
of his situation ; of the approaching ter- 
mination of his sickness ; of the blessings 
he had enjoyed; of the opportunities 
God had given him of knowing his will ; 
of his practical disregard of that will; 
of his guilt and danger; and of the 
refuge still left him, if, with a penitent 
and contrite heart, and a humble re- 
liance upon the merits of Christ, he 
would betake himself to it. 

He listened to me with the kindest at- 
tention, and when I proposed reading, as- 



GLIMMER OF HOPE. 21 



sured me he would hear me with a great 
deal of pleasure. Taking the Bible, I 
asked him what part I should select; and 
upon his desiring me to choose for myself, 
I read to him the fifteenth chapter of 
Luke, containing, among others, the 
parable of the prodigal son; and never 
had this beautiful narrative seemed to 
me more touching or effective. Its ex- 
quisite delicacy was surpassed only by 
its power. The folly and madness of the 
prodigal, who, abandoning country and 
friends, had wasted his substance in 
riotous living, and thus blasted his 
present happiness and his hopes for 
the future, seemed to awaken the deep- 
est emotion ; and when, adverting to the 
abundance in his father's house, while he 
himself perished with hunger, he re- 
solved, having come to himself, to return 



22 GLIMMER OF HOPE. 



and cast himself upon his father's love, 
confessing and deploring his folly and 
sins, my poor friend groaned aloud. But 
it was only when that father whom he 
had so grieved and offended, while he 
was yet a great way off, saw him, and 
had compassion, and ran and fell on his 
neck, and kissed him, that the heart of 
my friend absolutely melted ; and he 
seemed ready, as the tears ran down his 
cheeks, to pour it out like water. Oh ! 
are not these. I asked myself, tears of 
penitence and faith and gratitude and 
love ? Is not the heart which manifests 
such emotion finally and effectually 
touched by the Spirit of God ? 

Our interview was closed with prayer ; 
and when I took my leave, he invited 
me, in the kindest and most cordial 
manner, to see him again, and often. 



GLIMMER OF HOPE. 23 



And I shall never forget the joy which 
pervaded my whole soul as, on my way 
to my own dwelling, I praised God for 
his kindness, and entreated his blessing 
upon an intimacy thus propitiously 
begun. 

I frequently met him afterward, and 
no one could have given me, unpretend- 
ing as my claims upon his attention 
were, a more cordial welcome. His 
mind continued to be impressed with 
a deep sense of his sinfulness, and with 
the wonderful forbearance of God in not 
only sparing his life, but still holding out 
to him proffers of mercy, and allowing 
him to indulge a trembling hope, that 
through the merits of Christ his sins, 
though as scarlet, might become white 
as snow, and though red like crimson, 
might become as wool. 



24 GLIMMER OF HOPE. 



Week after week passed away, but, 
blessed be God, while the body was fail- 
ing and its hold upon life gradually 
breaking off, the spirit of my friend 
seemed to be clinging with an increased 
tenacity to Christ, as its almighty and 
only Helper. 

At one of our interviews, and I think 
at the very first after that the details of 
which have been already given, my sick 
friend, after assuring me of his bitter 
regrets in view of the sins of his past 
life, and of his full conviction that there 
was no possible salvation for him but 
upon the terms of the gospel, inquired 
of me, with apparently deep solicitude, 
whether I thought, after all, there 
was in his case any ground for hope? 
With a view to guarding him, if pos- 
sible, against self-deception, I told him 



GLIMMER OF HOPE. 



what in my opinion constituted true 
evangelical repentance, inquiring, at the 
same time, whether it was to be supposed 
that when he had devoted the whole 
powers of his soul, in early and mature 
life, to the service of the world, God 
would be likely to accept the very refuse 
of life — the lame, the halt, and the blind 
— as a suitable consecration to himself, — 
reminding him, nevertheless, that the 
blood of Christ cleanseth from all sin, 
and that in him there was mercy for the 
very chief of sinners. 

Alluding to this conversation, not long 
before his death, he thanked me for the 
discouraging language I had then used, 
assuring me that though grieved and 
distressed by it for the moment, as ab- 
solutely cruel, lie thought its influence 
had been a happy one, rendering him 



GLIMMER OF HOPE. 



more watchful over his own heart, and 
guarding him, he trusted, against pre- 
sumption. 

On one occasion he intimated, in a 
very delicate and somewhat timid man- 
ner, his wish, if it was proper, to make an 
open avowal of his confidence in Chris- 
tianity, as furnishing the only sufficient 
ground of a sinner's hope of salvation ; 
evidently desiring, if there should be no 
objection to it, to make a public pro- 
fession of his faith in Christ, and to par- 
take with his people of that bread and 
wine which show forth the Lord's death 
until he come. But I told him that 
such a course, in the case of one sick 
and unable to attend the ordinances of 
God's house, was rather unusual among 
Christians of our denomination ; that 
God would no doubt accept the will for 



GLIMMER OF HOPE. 27 



the deed, if he was in truth a penitent 
believer in Christ ; and that uncertain in 
their issue as most instances of a death- 
bed repentance were, such a proceeding, 
even if it could be brought about, might 
be productive of more evil than good ; — 
when he seemed satisfied, and never 
alluded to the subject afterward. 

I had frequent opportunities of seeing 
this dear friend, — for by this time he 
had become very dear to me, and I could 
not have loved him more had he been 
my own brother, — as well by night as by 
day. For some time before his death he 
required watchers, and I was occasionally 
privileged to sit by him during the night, 
and minister as I could to his comfort. 

On one occasion, but a little before 
he died, when his rest was very much 
broken, (for he slept only a few minutes 



28 GLIMMER OF HOPE. 



at a time, always when he awoke evinc- 
ing by some expression or implication 
his gratitude to God, as the giver of 
every good gift,) he had fallen asleep, 
when upon his awaking, I repeated to 
him, in a low but distinct tone of voice, 
these lines, from Watts's version of the 
fifty-first Psalm : 

u A broken heart, my God, my King, 
Is all the sacrifice I bring ; 
The God of grace will ne'er despise 
A broken heart for sacrifice." 

He was at this time very feeble, his 
conversation, slight as it was, being broken 
up into fragments, two or three words 
only connected together : but to my sur- 
prise, the moment I stopped, he began, 
and repeated, in a manner inexpressibly 
touching, the verse preceding — 



GLIMMER OF HOPE. 29 



" Though — I have grieved — thy Spirit — Lord ; — 
His help — and comfort — still afford — 
And let a wretch — a wretch" — 

repeating and emphasizing the word, 

" come near — thy throne — 
To plead the merits — of thy Son." 



Oh, what must have been the emotions 
of a mere man of the world, however 
flushed with public office or popular fa- 
vour, could he have been present at that 
moment, and heard those broken mid- 
night utterances from a man, once as am- 
bitious in his views, as much the idol of 
the people, and with as high intellectual 
endowments, as himself! 

But the scene was already closing. 
A day or two after, and my sick and suf- 
fering friend was evidently near death. 
He whispered a wish that I would en- 

3* 



30 GLIMMER OF HOPE. 



gage once more in prayer with him, re- 
plying to my inquiry as to the state of 
his mind, that he had "a glimmer — a 
glimmer of hope" still. When I called 
again, the spirit had just taken its flight, 
and all was over. 



InsmiMIiig. 



While the Bible, in its offers of mercy, 
holds out all needful encouragement to 
persons at every period and in every con- 
dition of life, a peculiar blessing, in this 
respect, seems to rest upon the young, 
and to them is given the most unqualified 
assurances, that earnestness of effort to 
secure the favour of God, through the me- 
diation of Christ, will be crowned with 
success. " They that seek me early shall 
find me." 

In childhood and youth, truths, which 
at a subsequent period might be entireh 
powerless, are often cordially embraced 

31 



32 INSENSIBILITY. 



The depravity of our common nature has 
not usually, at that early age, become 
so indurated, as it were, by resistance 
to the calls of the gospel and by habits 
of vice, as almost to preclude the possi- 
bility of salvation. How often will the 
heart of a child melt under those repre- 
sentations of the forbearance and com- 
passion and love of God, which fail to 
awaken, in the minds of men, long 
strangers to him, the slightest emotion ! 
The very nature of the latter seems to 
become more and more obdurate, as life 
advances — just as the sapling, to-day so 
tender and pliable, becomes in process of 
time as unyielding and impenetrable as 
the gnarled oak of a hundred winters. 

I have seldom, if ever, been more sen- 
sible of the gratitude we ought to feel for 
nearly religious impressions, than when 



INSENSIBILITY. 33 



endeavouring, many years ago, to con- 
vince a man, some sixty or seventy years 
old, of his need of an interest in Christ. 

In our monthly distribution of tracts. 
I had occasion to visit one family, in the 
outskirts of the town, which had been 
represented to me as a field for benevo- 
lent effort, of the most rigorous and un- 
promising nature, and hardly susceptible 
of cultivation. But having engaged in 
the enterprise, I was bound to go forward ; 
and, asking the blessing of God, I direct- 
ed my course toward the miserable hovel 
they occupied. 

It was a dark, rainy, cheerless after- 
noon in November, and the aspect of 
every thing around me was so chilling 
and desolate, that my heart almost sank 
within me as I entered the house. In 
our large cities, the lower classes are 



34 INSENSIBILITY. 



often found crowded promiscuously into 
chambers and cellars of the most loath- 
some nature; but I have never, in the 
country, met such a collection of unsight- 
ly persons, of both sexes, as I found as- 
sembled upon that occasion. It seemed 
to comprise every thing which could dis- 
hearten and discourage. 

After explaining, in few words, my 
purpose in coming, and conversing as 
well as I could with the different indi- 
viduals or clusters of individuals I 
found there, I proposed praying with 
them ; and while one of the number, who 
had long been a professor of religion, en- 
couraged me to proceed, the rest, looking 
askance at each other, and hardly seem- 
ing to understand what was intended, 
were evidently at a loss whether to scoff 
or be quiet. Finally, however, they con- 



INSENSIBILITY. 



eluded to hold their peace, and continued 
to do so until I had finished, when, with 
a few words of kindness, I bade them 
adieu, and departed. 

Among this motley group — some of 
them avowedly Universalists, but most of 
them of no religion at all — was the aged 
man I. have before mentioned; and his 
manner was comparatively so grave and 
respectable, that I hoped to be able at 
some future time to see him again, and 
converse with him more fully and freely 
on the subject of his prospects and hopes. 

I had not then, nor have I since, been 
particularly informed as to his origin, or 
employment, or habits of life. All I 
ever learned is, that he was, as the 
phrase is, "a hard character' — at some 
periods of his life, probably, very intem- 
perate — and accustomed to associate, from 



36 INSENSIBILITY. 



choice or necessity, with the degraded 
and vicious. And yet his general ap- 
pearance, when contrasted with that of 
those around him, was fitted to awaken 
a very favourable impression. 

At our next monthly distribution, and 
on various similar occasions afterward, 
I had repeated opportunities of talking 
with him. But it was to little or no 
purpose. He treated me respectfully, 
and listened to me sometimes very kind- 
ly, but generally with indications of im- 
patience that I should be troubling him 
upon subjects for which he had no regard. 

During the spring or summer of the 
next year, he became severely ill, and I 
saw him repeatedly while thus on his 
sick-bed, and under circumstances which 
promised a more favourable result than I 
had' been allowed to anticipate. He 



INSENSIBILITY. 37 



heard me more patiently than he had 
usually done before — seemed grateful 
that I had not forgotten him, and some- 
times, I almost hoped, began to feel his 
necessities and perils. But still no sub- 
stantial progress was made. There he 
was, and there he seemed likely to con- 
tinue — confessing, in general terms, that 
he was a sinner, acknowledging that 
there was no hope for him but through 
the mediation of Jesus Christ — and yet 
without any apparent solicitude for the 
salvation He had purchased, and which 
was then urged upon his acceptance. 

In this state of mind he had continued 
for some days from the commencement 
of his illness, when it became more and 
more obvious that he had but a short 
time to live. When he was in health, I 
had represented to him, in the strongest 

4 



38 INSENSIBILITY. 



manner I could, the folly and madness 
of the course he was pursuing, and urged 
and entreated him to listen to the over- 
tures of the gospel : and I went over the 
same ground now, conjuring him not to 
throw away his only possible chance for 
life. But while continuing to express 
his gratitude for my good wishes, and 
manifesting sometimes almost a desire to 
become a Christian that I might be gra- 
tified, his heart continued entirely un- 
moved — he had no sense of guilt, sent up 
no cries for deliverance, and went steadi- 
ly forward, apparently fearing nothing, 
and caring for .nothing. A cold, stupid, 
cruel insensibility seemed to have seized 
upon his very nature, from which there ivas 
no possibility of escape ! 

In this situation — wretched, impove- 
rished, and almost forsaken of God and 



INSENSIBILITY. 39 



man — he lingered a few hours longer — 
when, alas! without any apparent change 
for the better, his spirit was ushered into 
the presence of his Maker, and the re- 
cord of his miserable life sealed up unto 
the judgment! 



l^ponbing C^ristiaiu 



How mysterious, often, are the ways 
of Providence! Some of the disciples of 
Christ seem to be led gently along 
through life, no worldly trouble burden- 
ing their spirits, and no distrust of his 
love impairing their present peace, or 
disturbing their hopes for the future; 
while others, as far advanced perhaps 
in Christian attainments, are suffered, 
sometimes for years together, to grope 
their way in darkness, their ears mean- 
while ringing with the shouts of the 
enemy, and their hearts trembling with 
anxiety, lest after all they should fail of 
their heavenly home, the New Jerusa- 
lem, the city of the Great King ! 

40 



M 



A DESPONDING CHRISTIAN. 41 



An instance of this deep depression 

occurred some years ago in my own 

neighbourhood ; but the darkness which 

then rested upon the mind of that friend 

i 
has been dissipated. She has seen Him 

whom her soul loved face to face ; and if 
she now looks back at all upon her trials 
and conflicts in this world, it is only that, 
as she gazes at the abyss she has passed, 
and the mere plank by means of which 
she escaped it, she may send up new 
songs of thanksgiving to Him who deli- 
vered her from the snares of the adver- 
sary, and has brought her into his own 
presence to be a partaker of his glory. 

The case I allude to was that of an 
elderly lady, who at an earlier period had 
seemed like a mother in Israel, her 
character and course of life having been 
such for years as to encourage the strong- 

4* 



42 A DESPONDING CHRISTIAN, 



est confidence that she was a sincere dis- 
ciple of Jesus Christ. For some reason 
or other, (probably in consequence of ill 
health,) she had become, at the period of 
my first acquaintance with her, a most 
desponding Christian, doubting even 
whether she was a Christian at all, and 
ready often to sink into the earth, under 
the supposed frown of that Being whom 
she had once hypocritically, (as she now 
thought,) professed to love. Oh it was 
sad, week after week, and year after 
year, to see this patient and gentle being 
borne down by such inexpressible suffer- 
ing; manifestly regarding Christ as the 
chiefest among ten thousand, and yet 
(and the very thought was anguish) no 
Saviour for her ; solicitous that her hus- 
band, a professor also of religion, might 
not be deceived — that her children might 



A DESPONDING CHRISTIAN. 43 



all become disciples of Christ, or hold out 
to the end if already such — and that her 
neighbours and friends might be careful 
to secure, first and above all things, that 
enduring treasure which, alas! she had 
herself so madly and wickedly lost ! 

She was a lady somewhat above the 
ordinary stature, of a full habit, with 
large dark eyes, soft in their expression, 
and sometimes evincing the deepest ten- 
derness, as I attempted to dissipate her 
fears, and bring her back to that state 
of loving confidence in Christ she had 
once enjoyed. But my efforts were all 
in vain. Sometimes she not only doubted 
whether she was a Christian, but feared 
even (so plain seemed to her the hope- 
lessness of her case) that she had com- 
mitted the unpardonable sin ! 

I remember on one occasion, when 



44 A DESPONDING CHRISTIAN. 



apprehensions of this sort had been ex- 
pressed, the sweet involuntary smile she 
gave me, upon my attempting, and as I 
thought successfully, to show her the 
groundlessness of her fears. 

She had discovered, as usual, great 
solicitude for others, and especially for 
her husband; #nd was grieved and dis- 
tressed that she was herself so utterly 
without hope, and even beyond the 
possibility of salvation. Was there any 
blessing more important for him or for 
her children, I asked, than an interest 
in Christ, and did she not desire it for 
them more than any thing and every 
thing else ? 

" Oh yes," she replied ; " they are lost 
— lost — without it." 

" But if Christ," I said, " can save 
them, he can save you too." 



A DESPONDING CHRISTIAN. 45 



" Ah !" said she, " I am such a sinner ! 
I have despised the riches of his love ! 
I have sinned away my day of grace! 
and he now leaves me, and justly leaves 
me, to perish." 

" But what," I again asked, " could 
induce you to give up seeking his favour, 
or what would be a compensation for the 
loss of it ?" 

"Nothing, nothing," she quickly re- 
plied. " I would not do it for worlds." 

"And do you, then, really desire to 
love him, — to be able to regard him as 
your Saviour? Are you sure that this 
is your sincere, earnest, importunate 
prayer ?" 

" Oh," said she, " I long to be his ; to 
be transformed into his image, and fitted 
for his kingdom ! But I never shall be. 
I must go down to my grave sorrowing." 



46 A DESPONDING CHRISTIAN. 



"Now this is very strange!" said I. 
" You deem an interest in Christ to 
be invaluable; you ask it earnestly for 
your husband and children; there is 
nothing on earth you desire for yourself 
so much, and for worlds you would not 
give up Christ ! Did you ever hear of 
his casting off a soul which was clinging 
to him, and to him alone, for salvation ? 
Never — never. He has not, my dear 
friend, cast you off; and the very ear- 
nestness of your desire to love him 
shows conclusively that you do love 
him" 

She smiled for a moment, but it was 
only for a moment; and her counte- 
nance, when I left her, had settled down 
again into its accustomed gloom. 

Such continued to be the state of her 
mind for many months ; and in my va- 



A DESPONDING CHRISTIAN. 47 



rious interviews with her, she exhibited 
such sweetness of disposition, and such 
earnest longings to be made meet for 
heaven, that long before her death I had 
learned to regard her with the affection 
of a child. I hoped that, sooner or 
later, the cloud which rested upon her 
mind would be taken off, and that she 
would finally die in peace. And such 
was the event. 

I had heard of her increasing illness, 
and called to see her ; and the moment 
I cast my eyes upon her serene, placid 
countenance, I perceived that the cloud 
had been lifted, in token not only that 
the light of God's countenance was 
again resting upon her soul, but, as 
circumstances afterward proved, that 
her earthly tabernacle was about to be 
broken up, and her journey heavenward 



48 A DESPONDING CHRISTIAN. 



resumed and ended. Approaching her 
bedside, and observing that she recog- 
nised me, I expressed my pleasure at 
seeing her again, and said to her, in- 
quiringly, and yet with a trembling 
heart — " I am sure you now love Jesus 
Christ r 

" I hope so — I think I do," — -she softly 
whispered in reply. But she was too 
feeble for conversation ; and when we 
had breathed one short prayer in her 
behalf, I retired from her bedside. It 
was the last time. 

Her funeral was attended some few 
days after; and for a moment, as I 
remembered her sweet, gentle character, 
and her long-continued suffering under 
the supposed hidings of God's counte- 
nance, I mourned over her as for a 



A DESPONDING CHRISTIAN. 49 



mother. But the darkness had passed 
away; the light of heaven was now 
beaming upon her spirit; and all was 
peace. 



)pg Jrafes. 



The importance of early and habitual 
preparation for the closing scenes of life 
is never more apparent than when we 
are attending the bedside of the dying. 
Even in sickness, especially if it be se- 
vere, there is so much to be done to 
meet the wants of the body, such inces- 
sant applications are to be made for its 
support or relief, and the attention of 
ourselves and others is so constantly 
occupied by the efforts requisite for its 
restoration to health, that no appropriate 
opportunity seems to b$ left for those 
religious inquiries and exercises which, 

50 



DYING ANXIETIES. 51 



in the view of all, have now become 
indispensable. 

In addition to this, how often is the 
body racked with pain, or the mind so 
reduced to a state of utter weakness 
that even very slight attention to our 
worldly concerns is found to be exceed- 
ingly onerous, if not entirely impossible ! 
How feeble must be the hope, therefore, 
that at such a season any thing for the 
advancement of our spiritual welfare 
will be accomplished, or perseveringly 
attempted. 

But if such be the case, while any 
prospect exists of our restoration to 
health, how deplorable the condition 
of one who, when the shades of death 
are gathering around him, is endeavour- 
ing, for the first time, to prepare for 
those eternal scenes which are just 



52 DYING ANXIETIES. 



ready to open upon his vision! The 
work of a life is to be compressed into a 
mere point — of a few hours at best, per- 
haps a few moments only — and this 
though all is at stake, and is in immi- 
nent danger of being lost ! 

I know not when the importance of 
such early and habitual preparation has 
been more deeply impressed upon my 
mind, than in the case I am about to 
mention. 

The individual alluded to was a gen- 
tleman I had long known, and whose 
character combined so many excellent 
and noble qualities, that he had secured 
the sincerest regard and affection of a 
large circle of friends. He was the son 
of a clergyman, and had been carefully 
taught from his earliest childhood his 
true relations to God and man. Pro- 



DYIXG ANXIETIES. 53 



bably few had enjoyed more favourable 
opportunities for becoming acquainted 
with the leading truths of the Bible, or 
their immediate connection with our 
duties or destinies. At the same time, 
he was a man of rare intellectual 
powers, and for years had evinced an 
unusual capacity for the various public 
and professional services he was called 
to perform. 

But, unfortunately, though his atten- 
tion had been particularly awakened 
in early life to the subject of religion, 
he had contented himself, for the most 
part, with speculating upon the truths 
of Christianity, and admiring their won- 
derful adaptedness to meet the neces- 
sities of our nature, without allowing 
them to obtain that control over his 
heart and life so indispensable to his 

5* 



54 DYING ANXIETIES. 



highest happiness in this world or his 
suitable preparation for the world to 
come. 

About the period of middle age, when 
all his faculties were in their highest 
vigour, and he was looking forward 
with confidence to a long life of dis- 
tinction and usefulness, his health began 
to decline. His countenance soon indi- 
cated some constitutional derangement ; 
and though little apprehension was at 
first indulged that his illness would 
prove very serious or protracted, he was 
continually though very gradually fail- 
ing, until at last he was obliged to retire 
from his accustomed employments alto- 
gether, and was regarded as a man 
whose ultimate recovery was, to say the 
least of it, doubtful. Soon he was con- 
fined to his house, and then to his bed ; 



DYING ANXIETIES. 55 



and yet such was the vigour of his con- 
stitution, that both he and his friends 
continued to hope that he might still 
throw off the disease which oppressed 
him, and finally regain his health. 

But it was otherwise ordered. Not 
many months passed before it was un- 
derstood that his recovery was hopeless. 
The opinion of his physicians having 
been communicated to him, that he 
could live but a few hours, the im- 
portance of those eternal realities upon 
which he was soon to enter, began to 
press upon his mind with a weight al- 
most insupportable. After repeated en- 
treaties that he would penitently and 
heartily commit himself to Jesus Christ, 
as the only Saviour of sinners, one 
friend alone remained at his bedside, 
in the hope that he might become more 



56 DYING ANXIETIES. 



composed. Seeing, however, that his 
patient was still distressed and restless, 
he urged him to forbear conversation, 
and endeavour to obtain a little sleep. 

" How can I think of it," the sufferer 
replied, "when eternity is so near, and 
every moment so precious !" But upon 
being further urged, that he might be the 
better fitted for his religious duties, he 
at last consented, yet upon one condition 
— that his friend would spend the whole 
time in prayer, and importunate prayer, 
in his behalf. 

"Oh that God," he exclaimed, as he 
closed his eyes, and with an apparent 
agony of earnestness — "Oh that God 
would have mercy upon me, and receive 
me into his kingdom, though it be but as 
the humblest child there !" 

But, alas! though he lived until the 



DYING ANXIETIES. 



57 



next morning, there was no distinct and 
satisfactory evidence that he had found 
peace in believing; and in what state 
of preparation he finally died, is known 
only to Him who is the Resurrection 
and the Life. 

How true it is that, in reference to an 
interest of such indescribable magnitude, 
nothing should be left to the contin- 
gencies and distresses of a dying hour ! 



% % m § $wttyk 



What an inexpressible tenderness is 
sometimes awakened by the gospel of 
Christ ! And while imparting the most 
elevated views of his character, what an 
indescribable charm does it throw over 
believers, in their intercourse with each 
other ! It seems to bind together the 
hearts of the young, while it often 
prompts those of more mature years 
to regard the lambs of the flock, and 
especially such of them as have been 
recently gathered into the fold of the 
Good Shepherd, with a solicitude and 
tenderness of love hardly to be sur- 
passed. 

58 



A YOUNG DISCIPLE. 59 



I remember with great distinctness 
the delight I felt many years ago, when 
first informed that a young lady of my 
acquaintance had become interested in 
the subject of religion; and how deeply 
the value of the intelligence I then 
received was impressed upon my mind 
by the sad events which soon after 
occurred ! 

The young lady I speak of was the 
daughter of a very near neighbour and 
friend ; and at the time of the occur- 
rence referred to, must have been about 
eighteen or twenty years old. She was 
not, perhaps, beautiful, but the expres- 
sion of her countenance, even before 
religion had given to it its exquisite 
softness, was singularly attractive, and 
combined with the sweet tones of her 
voice, the symmetry and grace of her 



60 A YOUXG DISCIPLE. 



slight figure, the gentleness of her man- 
ners, and the intelligence discoverable in 
her conversation, to awaken the most 
entire confidence in the peculiar loveli- 
ness of her character. 

But with every thing in her personal 
appearance and general deportment to in- 
spire the most affectionate regard, one ele- 
ment of excellence was still wanting, for 
the absence of which nothing could com- 
pensate. With all her loveliness, her 
aspirations never extended beyond the 
bounds of the present life. This flower, 
so rich in its form and colouring, seemed 
to be but one of those flowers of the 
field to which our Saviour alluded, 
springing up in the morning only to be 
cut down at night, and then lost, and 
ere long forgotten. Thanks, ten thou- 
sand thanks to Him, our fears for the 



A YOUNG DISCIPLE. 61 



dear one were soon all dissipated; and 
even at this remote period we are per- 
mitted to think and speak of her as 
among the spirits of the just made per- 
fect, and perhaps, in the tender mercy 
of God, as a ministering spirit to our 
own souls! 

At about the period referred to, or 
rather for some weeks previously, an 
unusual interest had been awakened, by 
the faithful preaching of the gospel, 
upon those subjects connected with our 
unending existence in a future state. 
Religious meetings, of various descrip- 
tions, were held almost daily, and 
scarcely did an evening pass when some 
private dwelling or village school-house 
did not witness the gathering of persons 
of various ages, for earnest prayer to God 
for the outpouring of his Spirit. This 



62 A YOUNG DISCIPLE. 



multiplication of the means of grace 
continued for a series of weeks, and in 
the course of that time many souls were 
awakened and convinced, and, as we 
had reason to believe, converted to God. 
Among others, was this young lady; 
and now that countenance, always so 
mild and gentle, was perfectly radiant 
with gratitude and hope and joy ! Her 
eye seemed to be lighted up with a 
serene and heavenly lustre; her step 
became, if possible, more buoyant, and 
the tones of her sweet voice sweeter 
than ever. Once, joyous as her life was, 
it was at best but a very brief one. 
But now what a vail had been taken 
from the future ! What precious supports 
for this world! What exalted, trans- 
porting blessedness in the next, and how 
unending! 



A YOUNG DISCIPLE. 63 



I seldom saw her myself, and even 
less frequently had an opportunity of 
speaking to her of those interests which 
had now become so absorbing. But 
whenever I had such an opportunity, my 
heart was melted, indulging for her a 
tenderness hardly to be surpassed had 
she been my own first-born ! 

But, alas! a cloud was already ga- 
thering; and that scene, now so full of 
beauty and brightness, was soon, in 
some of its aspects, to be overshadowed 
by a gloom which not even religion itself 
could wholly dissipate. 

Some little indisposition had rendered 
it necessary that she should avoid not 
only the evening air, but all exposure 
also during the day. It was hoped, 
however, that her health would soon be 
entirely restored ; and hardly an appre- 



G4 A YOUNG DISCIPLE. 



hension was excited that her illness 
would prove a very serious one. But in 
the course of a few days, disease seemed 
to fasten itself upon her, and in such a 
form and with such power as not only to 
unfit her for the society of her friends, 
but to disqualify her also for those ex- 
ercises of faith and love she had but just 
learned to enjoy. Soon her reason was 
manifestly impaired, and few or none 
of those who had been familiar with her 
progress in spiritual life were admitted 
to her bedside : and after a few days, 
perhaps weeks, of intense anxiety on 
the part of her parents and friends, she 
fell . asleep — who that knew her could 
doubt it ? — in Jesus ! 

I know not how to express the bitter- 
ness of my regret that owing to the 
severity of her sickness I was not able 



■"-■ 



A YOUNG DISCIPLE. 65 



to be with her for a single half-hour 
during the whole of it. At first, in- 
deed, as I have before mentioned, no 
fatal result w r as at all anticipated; and 
when her symptoms became more 
alarming, it was deemed important 
that she should be kept, if possible, 
in a state of perfect quiet. I should 
have said, however, that I did see her, 
and see her often, during the last night 
of her life. But it was at a time when, 
lovely as she even then was, she recog- 
nised none of the friends around her; 
and our prayers at her bedside were 
heard only by Him whose ear is ever 
open to the cries of his children. 

But many of the Christian friends of 
the dear child were earnestly asking, in 
her behalf, the presence and power of 
the Holy One who inhabiteth eternity. 



6* 



66 A YOUNG DISCIPLE. 



It was the very evening, I think, 
before her death, that one of the more 
familiar religious gatherings of which I 
have spoken was held in the village 
church. Our pastor, who had watched 
with intense anxiety the first dawnings 
of pious feeling in the breast of this 
young disciple, was almost overwhelmed 
by the strength and tenderness of his 
emotions, in view of the event now ap- 
parently so near at hand. Oh, I shall 
never forget with what fervency and at 
what unusual length he poured out his 
soul before God ! How importunately he 
asked that she might be spared, if con- 
sistent with God's will, to her friends 
and to the church of Christ; or, if she 
was to be taken away, prepared for his 
presence and kingdom ! " Blessed Je- 
sus !" he began, while the heart of every 



■^ 



A YOUNG DISCIPLE. 67 



one present was melting with something 
of his own tenderness of spirit, " Blessed 
Jesus ! She whom thou lovest is sick !" 
proceeding, with a fullness and impor- 
tunity I have never known equalled, to 
commend this lamb of the flock to the 
keeping and care and love of his and 
her own precious Master and Lord. It 
seemed, so full was his almost bursting 
heart, as if he knew not when or where 
to stop, or how to forbear the blessed 
privilege of imploring upon the head of 
this dear sufferer, one of the very 
dearest of his own spiritual children, 
every possible blessing for time and for 
eternity ! 

It was now evident that the final 
hour was approaching ; and that I might 
be in a situation to render any assistance 
required, I had offered to sit up with the 



68 A YOUNG DISCIPLE. 



family during the night. And what a 
night of anguish it was ! Hitherto great 
care had been taken to keep the house 
as quiet as possible ; but now nothing 
seemed to disturb the dear child. She 
noticed no one; and though at times 
restless, her state of unconsciousness 
remained unbroken to the last. 

In passing from room to room, and 
occasionally looking in upon the sick 
one, I observed, toward morning, that 
in tossing from side to side, her cap 
having been loosened and thrown off, 
the rich brown locks of her hair had 
fallen about her face, giving to it, while 
her eyes were resting upon the ceiling, 
a wild and almost unearthly beauty. I 
endeavoured to catch one smile of re- 
cognition — one ray of intelligence — but 
in vain ; and kneeling with her mother 



A YOUNG DISCIPLE. 69 



at the foot of her bed, where, if reason 
should be restored but for a moment, we 
might be easily recognised, we once 
more commended her soul to the keep- 
ing of Him who never slumbers nor 
sleeps, earnestly entreating that it might 
be washed in that blood which cleanseth 
from all sin, and made meet for heaven. 

About sunrise, her restlessness having 
for some time ceased, she quietly 
breathed out her spirit into the hands 
of Him who gave it ! 

"Father, I will that they also whrnn 
them hast given me he with me where 1 
am." 



%tth ^miklmtt 



The question how we may best secure 
the highest present enjoyment, and most 
effectually prepare for the thousand trials 
and burdens God may have in store for 
us in his providence, is one which will 
often press with great weight upon the 
mind of every wise man. It matters 
little, in his view, what may be the de- 
gree of his happiness to-day, if, after all, 
that happiness is of such a nature, and 
derived from such sources, that to-mor- 
row the slightest untoward occurrences 
may not only impair but destroy it. The 
only good, indeed, really worthy of anv 

70 



ACTIVE BENEVOLENCE. 71 



great regard, and calling for our unceas- 
ing efforts for its attainment, is that 
which is in its own nature substantial 
and permanent; and just in proportion 
as we seek it with the whole heart, look- 
ing to God for his blessing, shall we ex- 
perience the highest present happiness, 
and be prepared for the various scenes 
which await us here and hereafter. 

One of the happiest men I have ever 
known was a man of the most active 
Christian benevolence — a benevolence so 
large and exalted that, while it rendered 
him prompt to relieve human suffering 
in all the various forms it is wont to as- 
sume, it awakened the most sedulous 
efforts to fix the attention of others upon 
those objects connected with their future 
and eternal well-being. Thus diligently 
labouring to make others happy, his own 



72 ACTIVE BENEVOLENCE. 



spirit became increasingly vigorous and 
self-denying; while the Saviour, in whose 
service he had so earnestly engaged, stood 
by him in every emergency, imparting 
to him through life and in death that 
peace which passeth understanding. 

The individual to whom I refer was a 
gentleman of about my own age, and 
had long been occupied in the usually en- 
grossing pursuits of mercantile life. But 
while diligent in business, and successful 
in the acquisition of property, his heart 
was fixed upon those treasures which are 
enduring; and having himself tasted that 
the Lord is gracious, he had, to a very 
unusual degree, imbibed the spirit and 
learned to imitate the example of that 
Divine Master who, when on earth, went 
about doing good. 

Though his health was generally fee- 



■"" 



ACTIVE BENEVOLENCE. 



73 



ble, so much so, that most men, under 
the same circumstances, would have ex- 
cused themselves from all extra effort on 
the ground of physical inability, his very 
infirmities seemed to give increased vi- 
gour to his labours of love. 

The poor and needy were sought out, 
and their necessities relieved, if not from 
his own means, which were always free- 
ly bestowed, by the benevolence of 
others. Every nook and corner of the 
village in which he resided was carefully 
examined — not only that the hungry 
might be fed, and the naked clothed, but 
the reckless sinner warned, the inquiring 
impenitent one guided to Christ, and the 
wandering disciple reclaimed, and re- 
stored, and saved. 

And while thus engaged as well in his 
own private business transactions, as in 

7 



74 ACTIVE BENEVOLENCE. 



efforts to supply the wants and provide 
for the spiritual necessities of others — 
labours which one would have supposed 
sufficient to occupy his whole time, and 
bring upon him burdens almost insup- 
portable — not a meeting for prayer oc- 
curred, where his presence could under 
any circumstances have been expected, 
but he was there, and had laboured to 
bring others with him — his prayers and 
his efforts always evincing a fervency of 
spirit which was never weary, and never 
disheartened. Indeed, in every depart- 
ment of labour, at home and abroad, in 
his store, in the Sunday-school, in the 
distribution of tracts, in every mission- 
ary effort, in his visits to the sick and 
needy and suffering, in all his inter- 
course with the followers of Christ, or 
the impenitent world around him, his 



ACTIVE BENEVOLENCE. 75 



one great, paramount object, year after 
year, sick or well, seemed ever to be 
"serving the Lord." 

I knew him intimately and thorough- 
ly, and during the whole course of my 
life I have never met with any human 
being, old or young, male or female, more 
sincerely and uniformly devoted to the 
service of Jesus Christ. His character, 
it is true, was not a perfect one. His 
importunities with the inconsiderate were 
sometimes perhaps too urgent, and often, 
it is possible, not entirely well-timed. 
Even his brethren in the church, as well 
as ministers of the gospel, were occasion- 
ally annoyed, no doubt, by his untiring 
activity and seeming restlessness of 
spirit, if they suffered any thing short of 
an insurmountable obstacle to induce an 
intermission of labour. But he was 



ACTIVE BENEVOLENCE. 



always in the harness himself, and it 
seemed to be the desire of his heart that 
all around him should be striving to- 
gether with him, and that continually, 
for the furtherance of the gospel of 
Christ. Indeed, his life was a standing 
admonition, not only to mere men of 
the world, who cared for none of these 
things, but to every disciple who was not 
habitually pressing toward the mark and 
helping others to obtain the prize. Oh ! 
how often has my own languor been re- 
proved by the fervency of his Christian 
love ! And how often have I shrouded my 
heart and the worldliness of my spirit from 
his observation, lest his eye should detect 
and expose them ! Alas ! that we should 
ever practically forget that Omniscient 
Eye, before which all things are naked 
and open. 



ACTIVE BENEVOLENCE. 



77 



But the period of my friend's active 
usefulness seemed to be drawing to a 
close, his health having so far failed that 
it appeared hardly possible he could to 
any considerable extent regain it. Still 
there was a childlike simplicity in his 
habitual confidence in God, which was 
inexpressibly interesting. Aside from 
his family, he was apparently unsolicitous 
whether he lived or died, and even with 
all his tenderness of affection for them, 
" Whatever," he w r ould say, "be the will 
of the Lord, I am satisfied." Him he 
had long trusted, and him he delighted 
to trust still. 

Unexpectedly, however, his disease 
assumed a more encouraging aspect, and 
it then became a question, both with him 
and his more intimate friends, whether 
he should remain where he was and sink, 



r8 ACTIVE BENEVOLENCE. 



as he probably must in the course of a 
few weeks, with his kindred and Chris- 
tian associates around him, or seek to 
prolong life and some measure of useful- 
ness by removing to a milder climate, 
and residing there permanently. After 
carefully looking at the subject in all its 
bearings, and with earnest prayer to God 
for direction, he finally concluded to 
adopt the course last mentioned ; and as 
soon as the season of the year permitted, 
he took his departure, with a full convic- 
tion, on the part of the friends he was 
leaving, that we should see his face no 
more. 

Having, after the experience of much 
weakness and many trials, accomplished 
the journey, he became an inhabitant of 
one of the more Southern states of the 
Union, and there remained for two or 



ACTIVE BENEVOLENCE 79 



three years, and until the time of his 
death. But feeble as he was, he was 
never idle. His life had been spared, 
and as he believed, for some wise pur- 
pose, and his constant inquiry continued 
to be, "Lord, what wilt thou have me 
to do?" 

Surrounded by strangers, he en- 
deavoured at once to ascertain, as well 
as he could, in what field of labour he 
could best expend the little measure of 
strength which was still left him. He 
found the inhabitants there solicitous 
chiefly, (as men are inclined to be every- 
where else,) about the things of the pre- 
sent life, and caring little, and enjoying 
few facilities, for the advancement of their 
spiritual welfare. Under these circum- 
stances he engaged anew, though to a very 
moderate extent, in his accustomed mer- 



80 ACTIVE BENEVOLENCE. 



cantile pursuits, as well for the purpose of 
preserving, as far as might be, the small 
property he still enjoyed, as for the pur- 
pose also of furnishing to those around 
him a practical illustration of the entire 
consistency between diligence in the bu- 
siness of this life and habitual devoted- 
ness to the great interests of the life to 
come. At the same time, with a view to 
the attainment, if possible, of more im- 
mediate spiritual results, he established 
a depository for Bibles and tracts, and 
sought, by every possible means, to get 
them into general circulation. A Sun- 
day-school was also set on foot, and ef- 
forts made to prepare the way for the 
settlement of a minister. When en- 
gaging in these enterprises, and various 
others, he never stopped to ask what he 
was able to do, his simple inquiry being, 



ACTIVE BENEVOLENCE. 81 



What is needed? and what, with the 
blessing of God, am I bound to attempt? 
And there is reason to believe, that by 
his uniform integrity, active benevolence, 
and untiring industry, he not only 
secured the affection of his Christian ac- 
quaintance, but the respect also of those 
who took no interest in the subject of 
religion; and his efforts for the welfare 
of the community in which he lived will 
long be remembered with the most grate- 
ful emotions. 

As he had anticipated, however, his 
work was destined to be a very brief one. 
His health ere long became again greatly 
impaired, and though he had consider- 
able confidence himself that he should 
in some measure regain it, thinking that 
the Lord had still something for him to 
do, he desired nevertheless to indulge no 



82 ACTIVE BENEVOLENCE. 



wish upon the subject, and was willing 
to live or die, as God saw best. 

For a number of months he continued 
to become more and more feeble, uninter- 
ruptedly enjoying, however, an unusual 
measure of that peace which is promised 
to all those who stay their minds upon 
the Lord. And that habitual trust in 
God, which had uniformly yielded him 
so much enjoyment, he was careful to 
inculcate upon others. On one occasion. 
a little before his decease, when a lady 
who had recently lost her husband, called 
to see him, he said to her as she left him, 
" You must lean upon the Lord" and after 
she had retired from his room, called her 
back, and said to her anew, "If you 
would have the Lord sustain you, you 
must lean upon him." 

Although his sickness was so greatly 



ACTIVE BENEVOLENCE. 



83 



protracted, his patience and resignation 
and desire for usefulness never failed. 
At one time, when, in great agony, he 
had earnestly asked for relief, he imme- 
diately checked himself, adding, "If it be 
the Lord's will, — but not otherwise for 
worlds." And the very evening before 
his death, although unable to speak above 
a whisper, he talked earnestly for half an 
hour to a neighbouring clergyman, com- 
mending to his care a young lady of that 
clergyman's congregation, who had re- 
cently expressed a hope that she had be- 
come a Christian. 

Some few days before his death, his 
wife being about to prepare a letter for a 
correspondent at the North, he wrote, 
while bolstered up in bed, the following 
farewell note to the circle of friends he 



84 ACTIVE BENEVOLENCE. 



had, two or three years previously, left 
in New England: — 

" Beloved Relatives and Friends, 

" These may be the last few lines yon 
will ever receive from the well-known hand 
of one for whom you have watched and 
cared and prayed. My physician says 
this morning the probability is decidedly 
against me, though my case is not with- 
out hope. I may be raised, but this is 
very doubtful. God is love. He that 
dwelleth in love dwelleth in God, and he 
in him. I trust we shall meet again, 
to part no more for ever. All I can say 
is, peace may you have as I have — I 
trust, such as Jesus promised." 

His toils and trials were now almost 



ACTIVE BENEVOLENCE. 



85 



over. Regarding heaven but as another 
apartment of his Father's house, he 
looked forward to the hour of death 
without the slightest apprehension ; and 
though while any thing was left for him 
to do, he had seemed, like his Divine 
Master, to be straitened until it should 
be accomplished, yet now, his work was 
apparently all finished, and he sank 
gently away, falling asleep in Him who 
is the resurrection and the life. 



Christian Arnhkaq. 



What an indescribable charm does re- 
ligion impart to the character of woman ! 
Without it, though she may possess the 
finest intellectual powers, and the most 
exquisite symmetry of feature and per- 
son, there is a deficiency, especially in 
the higher and more endearing relations 
of life, which nothing else can supply. 
Beauty and grace and gentleness may 
awaken, as they often do, even a fond 
admiration: but nothing short of that 
excellence, of which religion is an in- 
dispensable element, can secure perma- 

86 



CHRISTIAN CONSISTENCY. 87 



nently our profoundest confidence and 
love. 

Of all my female acquaintance, I have 
never known any one more uniformly or 
universally attractive, in youth, and mid- 
dle life, and down to the period of old 
age, than a lady who has recently de- 
ceased. 

She was a child of respectable and 
pious parents, and had been carefully in- 
structed in the Scriptures, and taught to 
regard the present life as but the mere 
threshold of the life to come. The les- 
sons thus inculcated had made a deep 
and abiding impression upon her mind, 
and under its influence a wonderful 
sweetness was thrown over her character, 
giving to it, in the view of all classes of 
her acquaintance, an attractiveness very 
rarely surpassed. The religious element 



CHRISTIAN CONSISTENCY. 



of which I speak had been so thoroughly 
wrought into her nature that it seemed 
to impart a loveliness to her habitual de- 
portment in every relation of life. It 
beamed in her large, soft, benevolent 
eye, gave sweetness to the tones of her 
voice, and above all, awakened an un- 
ceasing solicitude for the present and 
permanent welfare, not only of her own 
family, but of every individual, high or 
low, within the limits of her acquaint- 
ance. 

She was married in early life, and at 
a period probably when she was not her- 
self indulging a hope that she had be- 
come a follower of Christ. Her husband 
was a man of excellent mind, and of a 
noble and most benevolent spirit. But 
though, in point of tenderness for others. 
hardly surpassed by the wife God had 



CHRISTIAN CONSISTENCY. 89 



given him, he was not a Christian; and 
from year to year, as her own hopes 
brightened, and her estimate of the in- 
describable value of the gospel became 
more and more just, it seemed to be her 
unceasing desire and prayer that he 
might be made sensible of the necessities 
and perils of his condition. And, bless- 
ed be God, her efforts and prayers were 
not unavailing. When far advanced in 
years, he yielded to the combined influ- 
ences of her sweet Christian example 
and of the Spirit of God, and embraced, 
with the docility of a child, the truth as 
it is in Jesus. Oh ! what were her 
songs of thanksgiving in view of this 
precious manifestation of the Divine fa- 
vour! How earnestly and long she had 
sought it! and what a source of inex- 
pressible joy to her loving spirit, that he 

8* 



90 CHRISTIAN CONSISTENCY. 



also, after all her anxieties and fears, 
had been brought into the fold of the 
Good Shepherd ! 

In the tender relation of mother, 
she was every thing the fondest child 
could desire. With what solicitude she 
watched over her children in early life ! 
How importunately she entreated in their 
behalf, as one after another they went 
out into the world, the guidance and 
blessing of God ; and with what unwea- 
ried assiduity afterward did she improve 
every opportunity of advancing their 
temporal and spiritual welfare ! 

But her heart, though full of the ten- 
derest solicitude for the circle of loved 
ones more immediately around her, was 
warm also with the truest benevolence 
toward others. Her neighbours and ac- 
quaintance, whether the professed dis- 



CHRISTIAN CONSISTENCY. 91 



ciples of Christ, or still ranged on the 
side of his enemies, were ever awaken- 
ing, in some form or other, her efforts in 
their behalf. For the old, she had al- 
ways a word of the kindest sympathy 
and respect — for those occupying the 
busy scenes of middle life, one of affec- 
tionate caution against the engrossing 
concerns of the world — and for the 
young, of entreaty that they would re- 
member Him who alone could be effec- 
tually the guide of their youth. 

Her early education and the sphere of 
life in which she moved had given her 
an unusual taste for literature, and an 
unusual capacity for judging of its pro- 
ductions, while her letters and conversa- 
tion evinced a refinement and cultivation 
of mind and sweetness of disposition 
singularly interesting. Her love indeed 



92 CHRISTIAN CONSISTENCY. 



for the beautiful, whether in the natural 
or moral world, was one of the most 
striking traits in her character, and one 
could hardly observe the delight with 
which she contemplated the traces of her 
Father s hand in the pencillings of a 
flower, or the luxuriance of the scenery 
of her native village, or in the childlike 
loveliness of an humble, gentle, self-de- 
nying disciple of Christ, without catch- 
ing something of the enthusiasm which 
swelled and animated her own breast. 

But notwithstanding her unusual taste 
for literary pursuits, the Bible was after 
all her great repository of truth, and to 
this fountain she repaired habitually, 
that her thirst might be sweetly and 
permanently assuaged. With what de- 
light she drank of its waters ! and what 
a glow of spiritual health pervaded her 



CHRISTIAN CONSISTENCY. 93 



countenance, when, after a season of de- 
vout meditation and prayer, she engaged 
anew in the active duties of life ! 

Prone as the disciples of Christ are 
to forget their obligations and privileges, 
how beautiful is that consistency of 
Christian character which manifests it- 
self at all times and under all circum- 
stances, and which, while opening to 
the believer himself sources of unceas- 
ing enjoyment, does more, perhaps, than 
any thing else, to impress upon the 
minds of others a conviction of the ab- 
solutely transforming power of the gos- 
pel of Christ ! 

And it was this which gave to the cha- 
racter of our deceased friend one of its 
highest charms. No matter where she 
was, whether at home or abroad, sur- 
rounded by Christian friends, or by the 



94 CHRISTIAN CONSISTENCY. 



inconsiderate and thoughtless, she seemed 
always to be under the same blessed in- 
fluence from above. 

Aware that her solicitude and efforts 
for the welfare of others would be utter- 
ly unavailing without the blessing of 
God, she loved not only the place of se- 
cret prayer, but those gatherings of the 
disciples of Christ, where, in conjunction 
with others, she might plead with God 
for the outpourings of his Spirit and the 
extension of his kingdom. But his 
sanctuary was peculiarly dear to her, and 
it was the habitual language of her 
heart, " My soul longeth, yea, even faint- 
eth for the courts of the Lord." With 
what delight she waited upon Him 
there ! With what humility and ferven- 
cy of spirit she united in the devotions 
of his people ! With what a deep, ten- 



CHRISTIAN CONSISTENCY. 95 



der, absorbing interest she drank in 
the truth, as it was there dispensed by 
those commissioned to minister in his 
name ! 

Such were some of the more promi- 
nent characteristics., for a long succession 
of years, of this lovely and excellent 
woman. She had in early life been im- 
pressed by the power of Divine truth ; 
in her more mature years she had con- 
secrated herself to Christ ; and down to 
old age had his blessed assurances been 
verified to her soul — " I will never leave 
thee, nor forsake thee." "Not as the 
world giveth, give I unto you." 

At different periods, some years before 
her death, she was reduced to such an 
extremity of weakness that it seemed 
hardly possible she could be restored. 
But under these, and all her various 



96 CHRISTIAN CONSISTENCY. 



trials, she had learned to cast her bur- 
dens upon the Lord, and he had sus- 
tained her. Her "bank of faith" was 
never exhausted. She had partaken of 
that living water of which Christ has 
said, "Whosoever drinketh of it shall 
never thirst, but it shall be in him a well 
of water springing up into everlasting 
life." 

But the days of the years of her pil- 
grimage were about to be finished. The 
infirmities of age were multiplying; her 
hearing, which had been for years im- 
perfect, had almost failed, and her voice, 
too, at times, had become so feeble that 
it was with great difficulty she could be 
understood by those around her. Never- 
theless, her confidence in God remained 
unshaken. In the language of one who 



CHRISTIAN CONSISTENCY. 



97 



was with her to the last, " There were 
occasionally apparent wanderings of the 
mind, and minglings of the present with 
the past, that seemed like a return to 
childhood. But the mists and clouds 
that vailed and sometimes utterly shut 
out the sun soon passed away, and 
showed us that the luminary in her 
breast was never to be extinguished, 
though it might go down and leave us in 
darkness." 

"For a day or two previous to the 
last, her sufferings were often very se- 
vere, but for the few hours immediately 
preceding her death, her spirit was as 
peaceful as the gentlest sleep of an infant 
upon its mother's bosom." 

And when she finally died, not a 
doubt rested upon the minds of the 



( c'S CHRISTIAN CONSISTENCY. 



friends who survived her, that she had 
joined the great company of the re- 
deemed above, whose names are written 
in the Lamb's book of life. 



h^_ 



Canbfo Jwpfor. 



Some years ago, having learned 
through a mutual friend that the son 
of a lady of my acquaintance, in the 
very prime of life, was gradually sink- 
ing under some pulmonary affection, 
and in a disturbed state of mind on 
the subject of his spiritual concerns, 
I intimated a disposition, should his 
mother think it desirable, to visit him. 
From what I had learned, I supposed 
him to be about eighteen or twenty 
years old; and, though reared in a 
religious family, more insensible, per- 
haps, than usual to the importance of 

99 



100 CANDID INQUIRER. 



securing an interest in Christ. At any 
rate, when I first heard of his case, 
I was led, without much reflection, 
though prompted I trust by a sincere 
desire to make myself useful, to throw 
out the intimation I did. Somewhat to 
my surprise, I was informed by my 
correspondent, a day or two after, that 
not only his mother but the son also 
would be exceedingly happy to see me. 

Under these circumstances, with as 
brief a preparation as might be, I under- 
took the journey. When once upon my 
way, however, and the excitement un- 
der which I commenced it had some- 
what subsided, I thought much and 
often of the nature of the errand upon 
which I was going ; of the inexpressibly 
important results depending, perhaps, 
upon the faithful performance of my 



CANDID INQUIRER. 



101 



duty; and of my utter insufficiency for 
that duty, in every stage of it, without 
the divine blessing. Indeed, so dis- 
tinctly was my unfitness for such a 
service impressed upon my mind, that 
it required the most constant reflection 
upon the value of the interests at stake, 
accompanied by earnest prayer to God 
for the aids of his Spirit, to enable me, 
with any degree of personal satisfaction^ 
to persevere in my purpose. 

It was late in the day when I reached 
the village in which my young friend 
resided ; and after as little delay as was 
consistent with making the family ac- 
quainted with my arrival, and becoming 
myself informed of their wishes re- 
specting my visit, I called upon them. 
When I reached the house, the mother 
being engaged by her attendance on 

9* 



102 CANDID INQUIRER. 



the son, her sisters met me, and gave me 
a most cordial welcome. It soon be- 
came apparent from their conversation, 
that the case of the young man was 
regarded as somewhat less critical than 
it had been, and that his mind was in a 
less disturbed state than I had supposed 
it might be. To my great surprise, too, 
I now learned, for the first time, that in- 
stead of being a mere youth, he was a 
man of some six or eight and twenty 
years of age, who had been for years 
and was at that time a member of the 
legal profession. 

After being informed very briefly of his 
previous course of life, and of the difficul- 
ties he had met in relation to his spiritual 
interests, I was introduced into his room. 
He received me in the most kind and cor- 
dial manner, expressed his gratitude that 



CANDID INQUIRER. 



103 



I had taken so much pains in his behalf, 
and prepared me, by the sweetness of his 
own spirit, to engage in the service which 
had called me there, with the most en- 
couraging hopes of success. Though 
much emaciated, his dark, intelligent 
eye, and the very tones of his voice, in- 
dicated an unexpected degree of phy- 
sical strength; while every word he 
uttered convinced me that, with all his 
apparent gentleness of nature, his mind 
was one of singular activity and acute- 
ness. 

For a few minutes after his mother 
withdrew, our conversation was confined 
to the weather, the circumstances of my 
journey, the state of his health, and our 
mutual pleasure in meeting, though un- 
der circumstances so much to be re- 
gretted. By-and-by, however, reference 



104 CANDID INQUIRER. 



was made to the letters which had 
passed between my correspondent and 
myself, and the magnitude of the in- 
terest which had so unexpectedly 
brought me to his bedside. Nothing 
in the slightest degree repulsive was 
observable in his language or deport- 
ment. With all the frankness of a man 
of the kindest and most noble nature, 
he said, to me, not in words, but by 
his whole demeanour — " You have come 
to me on an errand of mercy ; God grant 
it may he followed by results gladdening 
alike to your heart and mine /" 

Thus prepared, we entered upon a 
discussion of those subjects upon which 
his happiness for time and for eternity 
seemed to be suspended. He had no 
doubt that the Scriptures are the word 
of God. His difficulties were of another 



CANDID INQUIRER. 105 



sort, having reference rather to his need 
of salvation, and to the process to be 
gone through as preparatory to securing 
it, than to the sufficiency of the scrip- 
tural provision in the case of open and 
flagrant transgressors of God's law. In 
other words, having maintained, as he 
supposed, all his life, a correct moral 
deportment, he seemed at a loss to un- 
derstand the necessity, or possibility 
even, of such a profound sense of guilt 
as the gospel enjoins, or what was ex- 
actly intended by that radical change 
of heart without which we are assured 
we cannot see the kingdom of God. 
Not that his difficulties were stated just 
in this form, or were confined entirely to 
these points. So far as I can now re- 
member, however, these were the more 
prominent ones ; and whether more or 



106 CANDID INQUIRER. 



less numerous, they might be all traced 
to one source — a very imperfect appre- 
hension of his own ill deserts, and con- 
sequent exposedness to the divine dis- 
pleasure. 

Our conversation upon these subjects 
having been continued for a considerable 
time, for the purpose of exhibiting to 
him connectedly, and in the simplest 
form, my own views of the gospel 
scheme of salvation, I spoke to him 
very freely of his relations to God; of 
his indebtedness to him for the thousand 
blessings he had enjoyed ; of his obliga- 
tions, growing out of those relations, 
to love, obey, and honour him ; of his 
long-continued ingratitude, disregard of 
His authority, and disobedience of his 
commands; of his consequent guilt in 
God's sight, and his exposure, of 



CANDID INQUIRER. 107 



course, to the penalties of his law ; and, 
finally, though in a similar case, under 
the administration of human laws, the 
offender would be without remedy, of 
the provision God had made, through 
the mediation of his own Son, for the 
pardon of the sinner, and for his pre- 
paration, under the influences of the 
Spirit, for his presence and kingdom ; 
endeavouring, as I went along, to secure 
his assent to the correctness of the dif- 
ferent steps I w r as taking. 

Thus far, theoretically at least, there 
seemed to be no special difficulty in his 
way. 

Without allowing myself, however, 
to occupy much time, and contenting 
myself for the present with preparing 
the w r ay for future interviews, I spoke to 
him of the gentleman whose case is men- 



108 CANDID INQUIRER. 



tioned in a previous sketch entitled 
u Glimmer of Hope ;" of the importance 
of his coming to the Scriptures himself 
with a childlike docility of spirit ; and 
again and again, of his utter inability to 
accomplish any thing, to any good pur- 
pose, without imploring and obtaining 
the aids of the Spirit. 

But perceiving him to be fatigued, 
I omitted reading to him, as I had in- 
tended, a portion of Scripture; and having 
offered, while kneeling at his bedside, a 
short prayer in his behalf, I withdrew, 
promising, at his request, to call again 
the next morning. 

In the mean time my own mind was 
exceedingly tried by the peculiarity of 
the circumstances in which I so unex- 
pectedly found myself. With a pre- 
sumption hardly excusable, and without 



CANDID IXQtIRER. 109 



any pretensions to the important place I 
was occupying, I had assumed a position 
from which I could not withdraw, and 
one which nevertheless, depending upon 
my own strength alone, I was utterly 
incompetent to hold. But the truths I 
had been commending to the attention 
of my friend were adequate, if cor- 
dially embraced and acted on, to my 
own relief; and I know not when I 
have been more sensible of my need of 
strength from above. 

Though the interview I had already 
had with my sick friend had convinced 
me, more than ever, of my own incom- 
petency for the service I had assumed, I 
could not but continue to ask in his 
behalf the blessing of God, and even, if 
it was possible, that I might be made 
the instrument of guiding him into the 



10 



110 CANDID INQUIRER. 



way of life ; while it was the more con- 
stant burden of my prayers that I might 
be spared the calamity of perplexing his 
mind, and thus inflicting, perhaps, an 
irreparable mischief. 

I called on him, as I had promised to 
do, the next morning, and to my regret 
found him sitting up, and under circum- 
stances, I feared, therefore, hardly so 
well fitted as the day before to admit 
of an extended interview. He spoke, 
too, with apparently less ease, and, as it 
seemed to me — perhaps I was mistaken 
— somewhat less confidingly; and yet 
his deportment toward me was kind 
and courteous. 

It being desirable that his attention 
should be particularly drawn to the 
essential characteristics of a disciple of 
Christ, I endeavoured to explain to him, 



CANDID INQUIRER. Ill 



as well as I could, the nature of true 
repentance, with the deep sense of sin 
and the full purpose of future obedience 
implied by it; the indispensable neces- 
sity of faith, or a cordial receiving of 
Christ, and resting upon him as the 
only ground of the sinners hope of sal- 
vation ; with his perishing need, as the 
source of every grace in the Christian 
character, of the transforming and sanc- 
tifying influences of the Spirit of God, 
without which, depraved as he was, he 
could not be fitted, even were his sins 
pardoned, for the immaculate blessedness 
of heaven. 

Without attempting to controvert, or 
appearing even to question the correct- 
ness of the views I had suggested, he 
still seemed to be somewhat perplexed 
by various matters of minor importance 



112 :::• qtquibsr. 



— such as the instantaneous nature of 
regeneration, the supposed necessary 
consciousness of the sinner, when cre- 
ated anew in Christ, that he has become 
one of his disciples, ftc 

In relation to the first, I told him, 
substantially, that though in one sense 
conversion must be instantaneous, since 
every man must be impenitent or in a 
r of grace, and the identical moment 
when he passes the dividing line he 
ss a Christian, yet the evidences 
ne ? s convt = were very various — 
sometimes very faint, and sometimes ab- 
solutely conclusive — and generally, per- 
haps, especially in the case of those 
religiously educated, like the dawning 
of the day, the light at first being indis- 
tinct, then gradually disclosing objects 
in their true form and colouring, aud 



CANDID INQUIRER. 113 



finally pouring upon the world around 
us a full tide of effulgence. 

And then, again, as to the confidence 
one feels that he is a Christian, much 
may depend upon his natural tempera- 
ment, his early education and previous 
habits of life, the circumstances under 
which his conversion occurred, and his 
subsequent course of action, — especially 
in reference to the spiritual welfare of 
others. And even if he sincerely re- 
pented of his sins, and with a childlike 
confidence in Christ committed his all 
into his hands, for time and for eternity, 
however thorough his change of charac- 
ter, God might or he might not see fit to 
grant him an unwavering conviction that 
his hope was a good hope, and would 
never fail him. But however this 

might be, and whether he possessed or 

10* 



114 CANDID INQUIRER. 



waa destitute of the faith of assurance, 
the believer is always safe in clinging to 
Christ, and safe nowhere else. 

He said but little, but as he seemed to 
understand perfectly what was required 
to secure salvation, and, though without 
that deep sense of guilt which is often 
observable, to be earnestly desiring that 
his sins might be blotted out and his 
soul transformed and sanctified, I could 
not but hope that he was just prepared, 
if he had not already done it, to give up 
all for Christ. 

When I left him, I proposed seeing 
him again in the course of the day. 

Accordingly, in the afternoon, near 
night, I called a third time, and was 
grieved to find that he had been up and 
dressed for an hour or two, and had 
become weary in waiting for me. Hav- 



CANDID INQUIRER. 115 



ing expressed my regret that there 
should have been any misapprehension 
on his part as to the time of my calling, 
and perceiving that he was even less 
able than in the morning to engage in 
conversation, I determined to try his 
strength as little as possible; and after 
a brief interview, in which the same 
topics were discussed or adverted to 
as before, and once more commending 
him in prayer to the guidance of the 
Spirit of God, I took my leave of him, 
and, as it proved, for the last time. 

From the appearance of our friend 
when I first met him, I thought his 
life might be prolonged for months ; but 
his apparent strength, at that time, was 
no doubt the result of a momentary ex- 
citement. After our last interview his 
decline was very rapid. He lived only 



116 CANDID INQUIRER. 



two or three weeks, continuing for the 
most part to manifest great reserve 
in reference to his religious feelings; and 
yet, by the trembling hopes he occasion- 
ally expressed, and the uniformly sub- 
dued and patient and gentle spirit he 
continued to exhibit, awakening a grate- 
ful conviction, in the minds of all around 
him, that he died a penitent believer in 
Christ. 



perfect |jtatt 



Among the various persons I have 
seen upon their death-bed, I do not 
remember any one who illustrated more 
clearly the benignant and tranquillizing 
influence of religion than the subject 
of this article, — a lady who was exceed- 
ingly dear to me, and for whose memory 
I shall always cherish the fondest re- 
gard. 

She was the daughter of a clergyman 
of New England, and at an early period 
^became deeply and permanently inte- 
rested in that subject — of all others the 
most important to a rational and im- 

117 



118 PERFECT PEACE. 



mortal being — the necessity of prepare 
tion for an endless hereafter. I am not 
aware of the circumstances under which 
the radical change of character she 
experienced occurred. Such, however, 
were her views of the gospel scheme 
of salvation, and so cordial, apparently, 
was her acceptance of its offers of mercy, 
that she was soon induced to make a 
profession of her faith in Christ, and to 
become a member of the church of 
which her father was the pastor. 

Soon after his death, and when about 
nineteen years of age, she became the 
wife of a gentleman considerably older 
than herself, who was then beginning to 
evince a remarkable fitness for the high 
standing in professional and public life 
which he subsequently attained; and 
while possessing, as she did, an excellent 



PERFECT PEACE. 119 



mind and remarkable sweetness of dis- 
position, she seemed, by her uniform 
reverence for him, and her unceasing 
efforts for his happiness, to have imbibed 
an unusual measure of that spirit so 
earnestly inculcated by the great apostle 
to the Gentiles. 

As a wife and mother, and indeed in 
every relation she sustained, she appears 
to have made very early and rapid ad- 
vances in Christian character; and that 
character was obviously maturing, from 
year to year, under the discipline of various 
sorts which she was called to experience. 
Her own health was exceedingly deli- 
cate, and many of her large family of 
children were called away before her. 
But whether in prosperity or adversity 
— whether cheered by the high degree 
of regard her husband seemed to be 



120 PERFECT PEACE. 



securing in the community, or watching 
with the tenderest solicitude about the 
bedside of a sick child, or mourning over 
the loss of the dear ones who had been 
suddenly taken from her — she always ma- 
nifested a spirit so equable, subdued, and 
gentle, that it was plain that her chief 
treasure was not on earth, but in heaven. 
And yet, strange as it may seem, 
while tremblingly alive to the import- 
ance of a good hope through grace, and 
uniformly regarding Jesus Christ as all 
her salvation and all her desire, such 
was her estimate of the importance of 
that great change which awaits us, and 
of its tremendous results, that she could 
never speak of her own death but with 
the deepest emotion ! The very men- 
tion of it would bring tears to her eyes 
and fill her heart with anxiety. In- 



PERFECT PEACE. 121 



deed, notwithstanding her high Christian 
attainments, and the unwavering confi- 
dence of her friends in the integrity 
of her Christian character, she was one 
of " those who through fear of death are 
all their lifetime subject to bondage." 

But, blessed be God, her sweet, child- 
like, loving spirit was not destined to be 
always thus darkened and burdened. 
When but little advanced beyond the 
period of middle life, she exhibited symp- 
toms of pulmonary consumption, brought 
about, it may be, by her attendance 
upon a very dear son of mature age, who 
some few years before had fallen a victim 
to that disease. And these indications 
were, alas ! but too well founded. For 
two or three years she lingered along, 
sometimes awakening hopes that she 

would throw off the disease entirely, and 
11 



122 PERFECT PEACE. 



then again experiencing a degree of pros- 
tration which threatened a speedy ex- 
tinction of life. Thus she continued, 
oscillating between life and death, until 
it became apparent that there was no 
hope of her recovery; and after many 
months of extreme debility, though never 
of very severe suffering, she surrendered 
her spirit into the hands of Him who 
gave it. 

But what was remarkable — and it 
is to this fact that I am desirous to 
draw the attention of the reader — as 
the sun of her life declined, the .clouds 
which had obscured its brightness were 
gradually scattered, until the hour of its 
setting arrived, when no Italian sky 
could have been softer or more cloudless 
and beautiful. 

For some time it had become more and 



PERFECT PEACE. 123 



more apparent that the days of this pre- 
cious friend would be .soon numbered and 
finished, and indeed we were in hourly 
expectation that the token of her being 
sent for would be received. Having 
once more privately commended her to 
Him who neither slumbers nor sleeps, I 
had retired to rest, but, soon after mid- 
night, was aroused by information that a 
sudden change had come over her, and 
she was apparently dying. I hurried to 
her bedside, when, instead of meeting this 
dear, dying one, with a look, as I had 
feared, of deep solicitude, perhaps of an- 
guish, depicted upon her countenance, I 
found her quiet, peaceful, and to all ap- 
pearance, as serenely happy as could be 
desired. Kneeling down by her side, I 
told her, while I held her emaciated hand 
in mine, that I was rejoiced to find her 



124 PERFECT PEACE. 



so tranquil, and that she had a Shepherd 
so full of kindness and power and love. 
She replied that the state of her mind 
was a subject of amazement to herself. 
Though death was so near at hand, she 
had not a single fear to trouble her; and 
she had no doubt that He who had so 
long sustained her would sustain her to 
the end. Soon the other members of the 
family began to assemble to take a farewell 
look of one who had so long been the fa- 
vourite of each. 

Acquainted with her usual state of 
mind, all were amazed by the wonder- 
ful composure and tranquillity and even 
cheerfulness our dear friend exhibited, 
and this when manifestly on the very 
verge of the grave, her destinies about 
to be settled for eternity. Oh ! it was 
a subject of the profoundest gratitude 



PERFECT PEACE. 125 



to us all — it was the burden of our 
conversation, and even of our prayers, 
which had become, from the singularity 
of our circumstances, rather songs of 
praise than addresses of supplication. 

But the night had now wasted away; 
the day had dawned, the sun had risen — 
the emblem of that Sun of Righteous- 
ness which for hours, I trust, had been 
beaming upon our souls — and the same 
group of dear ones still surrounded the 
bed of the dying believer. Angels and 
ministering spirits (among them, it may 
be, the dear ones she had loved and lost) 
were also there, waiting and watching for 
the further developments of the love and 
mercy of their God and ours. And the 
same benignant and placid smile con- 
tinued to rest upon the countenance of 

this precious disciple of Jesus. Not a 
11* 



126 PERFECT PEACE. 



single pain seemed to disturb her sereni- 
ty ; and but for an occasional wish to be 
shifted in her position, not an indication 
was exhibited of the slightest disquietude 
of body or mind. 

As the morning advanced, and one 
after another had stolen away to the 
breakfast-table, and all had re-assembled 
in what seemed to have become one of 
the outer courts of the upper sanctuary, 
and we were again speaking of that love 
of God which passeth knowlege, our dear 
friend, resting in the arms of a younger 
female relative — now, I trust, also in 
heaven — began to speak anew, in broken 
accents, of her own unworthiness, and 
of the wonderful love of Christ — attempt- 
ing to express her amazement, that what 
she had always anticipated as a scene of 
anguish was one of such unutterable 



PERFECT PEACE. 127 



peace. "Oh, it is only/' said her hus- 
band, "that Jesus Christ loves you, and 
is now sustaining and comforting you. 
You have long loved him, my child, you 
have loved him all your life, you loved 
him," — he said in a tone of inexpressible 
tenderness, — "you laved him, Sally, when 
you were a little girl." 

But soon the eyes of our dear one were 
beginning to assume an unnatural ap- 
pearance, and it was evident that her 
sight had failed. Her voice too became 
more and more feeble, till it was entirely 
gone. Her pulse was fluttering. Her 
breathing, though still easy, grew shorter 
and shorter. The golden bowl was just 
ready to be broken— when she reached 
out her hand, as though desiring some 
one to take it. One child after another 
did so — but no, it was not the hand she 



128 PERFECT PEACE. 



wanted — when her husband, thinking 
she might wish from him one more as- 
surance of his love, gently pressed it, 
and she was satisfied. It was the hand 
of one, who had been to her, for many 
years, a husband, father, unfaltering 
friend. She had clung to it through life, 
and now, though Christ had become to 
her the chief among ten thousand and 
altogether lovely, she was manifesting 
her love and gratitude to Him, by cling- 
ing to it still. 



(Bxiwi of a fetter, 

FROM A CLERGYMAN TO A LADY, ONCE A 
MEMBER OF HIS CHURCH, AND SUPPOSED TO 
BE NEAR DEATH. 



# * * "The Scriptures represent 
death as a very solemn event, and the 
feelings of nature agree with the represen- 
tations of the Scriptures. But there is a 
remarkable diversity among men, among 
Christians, in the views and feelings with 
which it is regarded — a diversity not 
perhaps to be accounted for. The dread 
which torments some, never affects the 
hearts of others ; and we cannot find in 
faith or holiness the reason for the dif- 
ference. People are not free from the 

129 



130 EXTRACT OF A LETTER. 



fear of death in proportion to their readi- 
ness for it. People are not overwhelmed 
with the fear of it in proportion to their 
real grounds for fearing. 

" I have no doubt that so far as the fear 
of death arises from what lies beyond it 
in eternity, the fear will vanish accord- 
ing to the soul's confiding in God, or its 
expectation of future felicity. Grace 
certainly tends to pacify conscience, and 
remove the terrors which sin hangs 
around the throne of judgment. But 
grace has only an indirect tendency to 
make dying itself less dreadful. It says 
(to every believer) of the judgment-seat, 
there is no condemnation ; but it does not 
say, there are no last gasps, no expir- 
ing groans, no shadows or darkness in 
the valley to be trodden. It has fought 
for us the battle, and opened up the way 



EXTRACT OF A LETTER. 131 



for us to stand before God in peace, so 
that we have no battle to fight, but have 
only to stand, without arms and without 
action, by the side of Him whose bared 
head receives the strokes of infinite jus- 
tice. But it has not made a path around 
the death-bed, and vouchsafed to us the 
chariot and horses of fire. So that our 
religion diminishes the terrors of death 
itself, only — 1st. By promising support 
and victory in that hour; and 2d. By 
leading the soul to look over and beyond 
and above the conflict, and to long to be 
away, on the wings of angels, to the halle- 
lujahs of the city of God. This last is 
the most common exercise of believers, 
who die in triumph. They forget dying. 
They melt away into heaven. 

" If then you would be prepared for 
both kinds of the fear, and have the full 



132 



EXTRACT OF A LETTER. 



victory over them, anticipate heaven, 
love heaven, live heaven. Learn to 



sing — 



Jerusalem ! my happy home, 

Name ever dear to me ; 
When shall my labours have an end, 

In joy, and peace, and thee ! 



Learn to think of the redeeming work 
of the eternal Son of God, and sing — 

For thee, my soul, for thee. 

The more simple and childlike you make 
all your exercises of mind, the better. 
Trust — do nothing but trust. Never try 
to do any thing else. You will find love 
coming unbidden and sweetly into your 
heart, if you will just trust Jesus Christ. 
•As a guilty, poor, helpless, undone sin- 
ner, lie in his arms, and be still. Dorit 



EXTRACT OF A LETTER. 133 



ash him what he is going to do ivith you. 
If your village were attacked at mid- 
night by a savage foe, burning its dwell- 
ings, and butchering its inhabitants, and 
a mother should take her child in her 
bosom to flee, and draw a hasty covering 
around its head, and whisper, ' Hush, 
hush, mother has got you/' it would be 
unwise (may I not say iwikind) if that 
cherished child should say, ' Mother, 
mother, what are you going to do with 
me?' She will do the best she can ; and 
so will Jesus Christ with you, if you will 
trust him. Let him have his own way; 
let him carry you as he will ; be the child 
in his arms, to do nothing but cling to 
him." * * * 

THE END. 



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